


This is What Makes Us Girls

by weekendsareforwhiskey



Series: Born to Die [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, but also slightly sleazy sansa, sleazy pete y'all, this is such a trashy sinful fic, um maybe I should put some actual tags though, underage for a short time, wow for once I'm not writing about politics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 15:03:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13056429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weekendsareforwhiskey/pseuds/weekendsareforwhiskey
Summary: The third Modern AU of the three-part Lana Del Rey "Born to Die" series.Sansa Stark is sent to live with her aunt Lysa and her husband Petyr.She realizes there's only one way she can get sent back home to her parents.A tale of sinful seduction told many times in the PXS fandom.





	This is What Makes Us Girls

Sansa

Housework never crossed her mind when she thought of her step-uncle. Or _just uncle_ as her aunt kept reminding her. It seemed _she_ didn’t want the reminder that there was a man before Petyr Baelish. She supposed Lysa was right. The “step” attachment didn’t really matter that far on the family tree. It only mattered for your own siblings or parents. At least in their family, it did.

But her uncle didn’t seem the type to do his own work. With a house like his two-story colonial monstrosity, she was sure he made enough money. Hell, even Lysa had enough inheritance from the Tully side. They had two maids. A chef for weekdays, as Lysa supposedly insisted on cooking on weekends when Petyr was supposed to be home. (In her two weeks there, Sansa hadn’t ever witnessed her aunt set foot in the kitchen and she was sure the meals they’d eaten together were prepared by the chef.) They could have hired a gardener. But there he was tending to the teacup rose bushes. The pink petals were striking against his white shirt and blue jeans.

Sansa had never seen him in jeans either, in her short time of living with him. It was always suits. Or just dress shirts and slacks if he was there for dinner. His jacket hung up in his closet presumably.  But he was rarely there. _Always away at work in the city_ , her aunt kept saying.

Except for today he wasn’t. Her aunt and her cousin were gone for the day, getting his hair cut by a professional. It seemed her uncle was taking the weekday off from his work in the city to do some work at home. She saw him clip the dying roses with expert precision. Gloved hands taking the stems in hand and snipping them away with one quick movement; it didn’t seem that hard, just tedious.

The sun was beating down, casting gleaming ripples across the back of his white t-shirt. His hair was out of its normal overly styled coif and seemed a little wild. Grey curled at his temples. There was a dark patch of sweat developing and she decided the oldest trick in the book was necessary for a moment like this. Two weeks here was too long and she wanted out. She left the kitchen and flitted off to her room.

 

Petyr

He could feel her stare on him. Watching him from the kitchen window. She’d been standing there for at least fifteen minutes and then she was gone in a flash of red hair. He breathed a sigh of relief. Gardening was his time of peace from the insanity that was Lysa and Lannisters and Littlefinger. He didn’t need some teenager on his mind. That same teenager he’d been so reluctant to accept into his home was on his mind far too often for his liking.

But she was gone from the window and he could return all of his attention to the roses at hand instead of her gaze from the window. The soil was too dry underneath his knees. He’d need to water it later when the sun wasn’t beating down. Whenever Lysa returned home and started cooking he could probably escape again. Give his stepson a compliment on his shortened hair, give Lysa a kiss on the cheek, work in his office and then return to the garden before enduring another family dinner.

The family dinners mostly consisted of Lysa talking _at_ him. She hardly ever needed any reassurance in conversations. But since their little _convict_ had begun living with them they’d turned to a constant questioning of Sansa. He felt bad for the girl, but not bad enough to stop Lysa. Content to smirk whenever Sansa gave a backhanded remark in the form of a compliment to match Lysa’s own. The girl was very much her mother’s daughter. Petulance disguised with sugary sweet words.

Unlike her mother, she didn’t seem to be growing out of whatever rich kid syndrome she was going through. When her parents had finally had enough of her “acting out,” they’d shipped her off to Lysa’s. He hardly thought getting drunk with her boyfriend and friends, breaking into their school, and stealing the rowing team’s boats could be considered normal “acting out,” but she had to remember the brothers that Catelyn had and Ned Stark both grew up with. The lifestyle they’d all led as teens themselves.

That was all old news. Their daughter seemed to be settling in fine. Quiet and demure at home. Her parents had taken away her phone, but she was sure to have contact with her old life in other ways. Lysa didn’t seem intent on forcing any rules on the girl so long as she stayed quiet. She’d finish up her last year of high school online and then be sent off to some college that would have a Stark wing donated just as she arrived. Based off of her choice in boyfriend, the eldest Baratheon boy, Petyr had doubted her _intelligence_ would get her into whatever college she wanted.

The back door slammed shut and he looked up. He took back his assessment of her mind’s capacity when she hopped down the back porch’s steps in a black bikini carrying a book and two full glasses of lemonade. A towel slung over her arm. Her sunglasses were tucked in the middle of her string top, stretching the skimpy fabric and showing even more cleavage than it normally would.

He knew this trick; his own variation of it at least. Had performed it many a time when he needed money or information during his time with the Tullys. Sansa seemed practiced, but it still reeked of amateurism. He wasn’t sure what she wanted from him yet, but it seemed Sansa thought he was as easy as the elite housewives he’d catered to at her age.

 

Sansa

She’d gone straight for the bikini that had scored her first date with Joffrey Baratheon. It had worked its magic then, it could work its magic now. The smirk on her uncle’s face told her all she needed to know. It was the same look that her friends’ dads at her parents’ country club gave her when they knew their wives weren’t looking. The same look they gave her when she _accidentally_ spilled snow cone syrup on what little cleavage her white polo allowed when she worked at the local stand during the summer. She’d been sticky for three summers in a row, but the tips had piled up.

Men were easy. She’d learned that at a young age. They were all the same.

“Uncle Petyr,” she called out cheerily, bare feet hitting the wood of the porch and then the tall grass of the yard. “It seems like a _really hot_ day. I thought you might want some lemonade.”

His smirk deepened as he clipped one last wilting rose off of the bush and set his tools down on the ground beside him. “It is rather warm out. How very kind of you to think of me. Going for a swim as well?”

“Yeah. You’ve got such an inviting pool. I figured I’d do some laps and then work on my tan,” she nodded and held out a glass to him. The blue bendy straw may have been a tad childish, but she was nothing if not thorough. “Would you like to join me?”

His teeth bit his bottom lip and took the drink. After the straw was forgone he sipped from the rim of the glass. She didn’t see how his lips could go any further up his cheek, but when he spoke again it seemed his lips were permanently quirked to the right, “Thank you. I appreciate the drink, but I’m not as young as you anymore. Responsibility and work still call on the weekends. No time for laps and tanning. Enjoy yourself though. Robin hardly swims anymore; it’ll be good to see the pool get some use.”

“I’m sure you can take _some_ days off. Why watch when you can participate? Cool down a bit.” She took a long sip of her own lemonade. Sucked languidly on the straw. Just because he wouldn’t, didn’t mean she’d follow his lead.

He gave a short laugh and took a glove off to wipe the sweat from his brow, “If only. Someone has to work to pay for everything. Your aunt would be quite upset if she lost this all.”

“I’m sure one day of swimming and being lazy wouldn’t force you to lose it all. She’s got to understand you need some time off,” Sansa continued, toed the clippers he’d laid on the ground. The red polish on her nails stood out against the grass and soil.  “Gardening has got to be just as _hard_ as whatever it is you do in those offices. Meticulous work with your hands. Besides, my aunt won’t even be home until dark. She wouldn’t even need to know.”

The knowledge that another person wouldn’t need to know usually got Sansa anything she wanted. People, men or women, were willing to risk anything and everything if they knew that nobody would know. Would do anything and everything that they _wanted_ to do. It was like a psychological test.

If you did a bad thing and nobody caught you would you keep doing it?

Petyr sipped his drink again; eyes squinted up at her from the ground below. “Nothing escapes your aunt, Sansa. You’d do well to learn that early in your time here. But, enjoy your swim. And your book,” he gestured to book tucked in her hand. “What are you reading?”

She grinned, “ _Lolita_. I’m about halfway through I can’t seem to put it down. Ever read it?”

He matched her own grin as he stood and she knew her final card had worked. But he didn’t take her in his arms, didn’t pull her against him in a flurry of hurried passion to kiss her and fondle her like she’d imagined all the other boys and men wanted to. Instead, he finished his drink and poured his leftover ice in hers. The lemonade spilled over the top onto her hand and she jumped a bit.

“Sorry, it seemed like you needed to cool down,” he smiled at her shocked expression. “I’ve never been a Nabokov man. Always seemed _too easy_ for me.”

Sansa fumed for a moment. He wouldn’t _be easy_ it seemed. He’d be an asshole. By the time she’d thought of a reply he’d already reached the back door, “What would _you_ recommend?”

 

Petyr

The metal handle was already in his hand, twisting in his slick grip, but he turned back to her anyway, “I’ll have to get back to you on that one.”

He opened it and ducked into the house smoothly. Without looking out the window he set his empty glass in the sink and headed into his office mulling over the interaction with his _niece_. Her attempted seduction was sloppy. So young, but not so innocent. Lysa would have her out on the street the minute she found out any…And there it was. He smiled. So the girl wanted to leave and would use him as her pawn.

Now _that_ was interesting. Slightly expected, but the way her mind worked was what interested him. Whether he’d play along was his choice now. He thought about their conversation. The way she’d narrowed her eyes just so, jutted out her pink lips while she sucked on her straw, and then the ultimate shock when it hadn’t worked. He’d _really_ enjoyed that part the most 

 _She wouldn’t even need to know_. A wicked girl so quick to go behind her relative’s back just to get what she wanted. And what did she want? To go back to her boyfriend and idiotic friends? At the cost of a ruined marriage. Little did she know the marriage had always been one-sided and ruined from the beginning.

“Meticulous work with your hands,” he murmured and laughed again. She needed a lesson that wasn’t poolside at one of her family’s barbeques or wherever she’d learned that men were weak for a bit of empty flattery and young cleavage. But she had said one thing that stuck with him.

 _Why watch when you can participate?_ Why indeed…He stepped away from his desk and scanned his shelf looking for the right book. Nabokov had his uses, but Petyr hadn’t lied when he expressed his distaste for the author. Mostly because of the cheapness of his infamous novel. He needed another author to teach her. Maupassant and Lawrence were his go to, but who to choose?

His office door shut quietly behind him and he made sure to lock it. The sound of splashing water could be heard inside the house and he knew she was still busy swimming laps. Working off the frustration he’d left her with. The carpeted stairs muffled his steps as he slipped into the hallway, passed the guest bathroom, and gently opened the door to her room.

The room was the same as it was two weeks prior when he’d ensured the necessities were there. She’d added no personal touches except for the mess of clothes on the floor. There was definitely an air of neglect about the room. Her suitcase was open, but she hadn’t placed any of her clothes in the closet or the drawers. Maybe her plan was slightly more premeditated than it appeared. He spied her outfit from earlier, underwear and shorts together like she’d whipped them off together in one fluid movement. She _had_ worked quickly. The idea must have popped into her brain and she acted immediately. He could trick her. Leave the book on the bed, take the discarded item of clothing. Make her wonder and think he was _truly tricked_ and affected by her teenage seduction.

No. Leave the book on the bed and let her make the next move. Learn from her clumsy mistakes by the pool. He needed to clean up his mess of roses in the garden. Maybe she’d try another weak tactic before Lysa and Robin got home. He went to the kitchen and fetched the pitcher of lemonade from the fridge. Outside the pool water was calm and clear, undisturbed by any ripples. Sansa was laying on her stomach, wet copper hair dripping off the sides of her layout chair. Sunglasses protected her eyes as she perched on her elbows to read. Her top was untied at the back, and the bottoms cinched to show more cheek than necessary. 

The door slammed behind him and she turned with a smile. The front of her top dangled, hinting at more pale flesh. He was distracted by his own plan but still felt a twinge in his lower abdomen as he made his way over to her.

"Decided you'd join me I hope? Although, I don't think you'll be able to swim in jeans. " 

"No, I think that might clog up the filters. Just came out to return the favor and clean up the garden." 

Her glass was empty aside from the quickly melting ice cubes. "You finished that fast." 

"Swimming really works up a thirst you know?" 

"Yeah, it does," he smirked. "Cooled off then?" 

She met his gaze over the sunglasses, "Not really. I'm hotter than before. Thanks for the lemonade." 

With that she turned back to her book, her feet kicked up in the air behind her. He let out a soft chuckle and walked back to the garden. She'd need a lot of attentive lessons it seemed. 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, let me start another fic when I only have one completed one. Brilliant idea. I know. 
> 
> who the fuck knows where this is gonna go but it's gonna be something gross


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